With the spring sun once again radiant atop the New York skyline, I spent this afternoon wandering the streets, mainly observing, in store window reflections, that I am exceedingly, cadaverously pale.

I am, by nature, a light-skinned person – having inherited my coloring more from my red-haired mother than my oft-mistaken-for-Italian father. But, after a winter spent in New York City, blanching under the glow of overhead fluorescents, I’ve moved well past past ‘fair’, and into ‘look kids, there’s Casper!’

Still, there’s more than just vanity behind my concern. Research seems to indicate that being tan is actually good for your skin, whereas it’s getting tan, and particularly getting tan fast, that’s particularly dangerous. And as, during the summer, I’m likely to be spending long hours on at least some days under beating solar rays, I’m hoping to ease myself in, rather than scorch to lobster on a first extended outing.

So, over the course of the next few weeks, I’ve been trying to engineer my schedule to allow for at least short periods of daily time in the sun. And, equally so, trying to schedule them as, say, shirtless morning jogs; having learned from past years how permanent a base my first spring sun forays can leave, I’m eager to avoid a repeat of one year’s redneck-ready farmer tan.

Mainly because I realize I’ll eventually want to hit a beach. And I don’t own nearly enough NASCAR-logoed bathing suits to back up the look.